


Blood Spats and Bullies

by Choices_We_Make



Series: Truth Universe [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad-ass half-bloods, Blood Prejudice, Bullying, Bullying and prejudice, Companion One-Shot, Harry's adorable and doesn't know how to make friends but he gets them anyway, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin!Harry, This One Has Feels, treacle tart fixes all the problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:52:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Choices_We_Make/pseuds/Choices_We_Make
Summary: Half-blood, they say, like it's a curse. Harry tries to understand, but then, he doesn't want to. Doesn't want the twisted logic to make sense - doesn't let it. And he's glad he hasn't, the day he finds some Ravenclaws cornering another firstie in an abandoned hall, throwing words about weaker magic and tainted souls, mixed-breeding and corrupted lineage. They're taunting and towering, and he sees some hunted look in her eye and a shimmer on her cheek and when they raise their wands at her, he raises his and steps in-between.In which Harry struggles with bullying and blood prejudice, but ends up making a new friend.





	Blood Spats and Bullies

**Author's Note:**

> So…this is NOT an epilogue! This is a random one-shot set in Truth's Like Blood universe that just happened to get done first because I already had most of it written. No Snape in this one-shot, but don't worry, he'll show up soon ^-^ These aren't really chronological in any way, they're just getting posted as I write them. Enjoy!

For the first time, Harry wakes up choking on water so cold it seems to freeze the air in his lungs, skin seizing, ratty, loose pajama shirt soaked through. He wakes up with booby trapped sheets and blankets that keep ripping themselves off of his shivering form, and a pillow that feels like a hot burner every time he lays his head down and a different insult scribbled on the inside of his curtains every night. He finds his History of Magic textbook shredded and placed at the end of his bed like a gift, and his shoes glued to the floor with a stickfast hex (he goes to classes barefoot that day and squeezes his eyes and tries to keep his voice guileless when he explains to the teachers that he "didn't think shoes were necessary". Flitwick takes points). 

It's nothing blatant, nothing the other houses would notice, nothing physical that would show, and nothing large enough for him to bring up with an adult, if he were the kind of kid who would do that (he's not). He laughs, a little cracked as it comes out under his breath. Who would he go to, anyway? _Snape's_ his Head of House. Anyone else, he's not their problem. 

He doesn't give up, he'll fight through it, because this is his fairy-tale, this is his ever-after, his paradigm shift and his world changing, and he's not giving it up for all the bullies in the world, he's not letting them take it, not like the Dursleys and everyone else have been taking and taking ever since he got flung unprotected into their world at the tender age of one. 

Besides, it's not the first time, not nearly the first time, he's been subtly tripped down stairs and pushed in corridors and shoved in class. Not the first time he can feel dark looks steaming into his back, and his name clucked out in spite or sarcasm. 

It is the first time he's heard the word _half-blood_ hurled at him though, and he wonders at the significance and the uneasiness it leaves trailing through his bones like a smokey echo. He and Blaise have a long discussion that night, and by the end of it, Harry tries to understand, but then he doesn't want to. He doesn't want it to make sense - doesn't let it.

He sees it in a lot of places, though, after that - places he didn't realize before. In Malfoy's smirk and Pansy Parkinson's flat-out snobbishness, and especially in the whispers and politics of the upper years. And Harry is outside by the lake, hands behind his head and sun on his face, staring into that blue, blue sky when he decides that it's not going to matter to him, that he's not going to become like that. Eleven and already he knows what it is to be hated for where you come from and for what runs in your veins. 

The Dursleys taught him something after all. 

But he's glad of it the day he finds some Ravenclaws cornering another firstie in an abandoned hall, throwing words about weaker magic and tainted souls, mixed-breeding and corrupted lineage and muggles slowly infiltrating, and Harry knows more than ever that anything that makes a wide-eyed eleven-year-old girl into the enemy is something worth defying. They're taunting and towering, and he sees some hunted look in her eye and a shimmer on her cheek and when they raise their wands at her, he raises his and steps in-between. 

Their wand arms move down fractionally, glances unsure, and then one laughs, sharp and spiteful. 

"Get out the way, firstie," a tall boy with black-hair narrows his eyes. 

Harry lowers his wand. 

"You're right. My mistake." He says cooly. "Obviously, she and I are holding you up dreadfully. We'll just go and get out of your way." 

"Whoa, is ickle Slytherin firstie trying to be a hero?" Shouts a boy from the side. "Wrong house, you know! Slytherins value self-preservation I'm told, so why don't you move on and we'll do you the favor letting you walk off unharmed."

"Yeah, well, I'm told Ravenclaws are supposed to be intelligent, so maybe you're the ones who got sorted wrong."

Several outraged boys start forward, but the same dark haired one with the slim, almost graceful build holds them back. "Look, you can _go!_ This is your last chance. We've got a conversation to finish with Davis here."

"In that case, I'll stay. I'm quite interested to hear what you have to say." Harry's got a trump card, and he pulls it. 

"I have some personal relevance to it, after all…I'm a half-blood, too." 

His hand brushes his loose, wispy fringe from his forehead ever-so-casually.

"It's Harry Potter-" 

Gasps.

"Of course it's _Harry Potter!"_ Comes the hiss, and the boys back up a bit, hasty. 

Harry's a little surprised they didn't recognize him when he first stepped into view, but he feels like most of Hogwarts is still getting used to seeing him in green-trimmed robes, and he doesn't have much actual interaction with the Ravenclaws, or the upper years. 

"So. Did you all have something to say?" 

It's odd, the way they melt away, silent and begrudging into the shadows, and for the first time in his life, he's glad that he's Harry Potter. He'd really just been hoping to distract them by using himself as a target so she could get away. It's worked pretty well to protect the littles of the Surrey neighborhood from Dudley. He'd expected shouts and running feet, hopefully hers, curses hissing and pain and probably some blood, but they're just…gone, and suddenly, he and the girl are alone. 

"Merlin, their faces!" Her voice is laughing and breathless as she turns to face him, eyes sparkling with mirth. They're brown, plain brown, and he thinks they're some of the most gorgeous eyes he's ever seen.

He lets out a snort, unable to keep it back, his own heart pumping fast with adrenaline and glee because _they backed off_ , and while he's come to shy away from the attention his name brings him, he could never in a million years have imagined _this_ , and it's making him a little dizzy with the thought, with the spark of wonder he's feeling and a cautious, wiggling curiosity about what else he might be able to do amongst the other houses…

She looks abashed, a little, as her laughter settles to an embarrassed smile. 

"Erm, thanks, by the way -" She says. "Not that I couldn't have handled them myself, but -"

And Harry, who can't remember _ever_ being thanked, for _anything, -_ even by Blaise or Theodore, because what has he ever given them? - doesn't know quite what to say until she shoves her hand at him, her warm, honey-colored hair swinging. 

"I'm Tracey Davis."

He realizes, suddenly, that he knew her blood before he knew her name. 

And then he realizes that it doesn't matter one bloody bit. 

"Harry," he says, and she grabs his own hand, fingers firm and friendly before she lets it go.

"I really hadn't thought about it," She says thoughtfully. "How you're a half-blood, too." 

Her tone turns horrified as a thought occurs to her and she blurts out suddenly, "People don't give _you_ trouble about it, surely-" 

He shakes his head. "I think names matter more than blood, don't you?" He says quietly. "They say a lot more about you. They can be indimidating... but you can grow into them, right?" 

She's giving him a rather odd look, and his face warms as he rushes out, "Well, anyway, I think names are more important, and I - I like yours." 

He rather suddenly remembers he doesn't know how to act around girls. But she doesn't seem to mind, because she looks at him curiously, and then she smiles like she likes what she sees. 

"Well, Harry, it's very nice to meet you." She hesitates, then says bluntly, "You - well, you weren't at all what I was expecting from Harry Potter."

"Well, I do think names are important, but they aren't _everything_ ," he jibes lightly, feeling some weight drop away from his shoulders. "Especially when you have one like - well, like mine."

Her eyes are sparking again.

"Yes, well, _Harry_ is a rather weighty name," She says, purposely misunderstanding. "A bit dour, d'you think?"

"Ha, you should hear my cousin's name!" He laughs, and it's the first time he's managed to mention his relatives since he's come to Hogwarts without tensing up. 

"Oh?" Her eyes look just as nice when they're all lighted up with curiosity.

"Dudley. Dudley Dursley."

 _"Dudley?"_ She deadpans, then gives a little howl of giggles. "Can you imagine what the pure-bloods would make of that?" 

Harry imagines it. He imagines _Malfoy_ meeting Dudley and he can't help the amused sounds coming out of his mouth - if anyone on _earth_ deserved each other, it would be those two! 

When their chortles finally ease away, it's comfortable - more comfortable than Harry's felt with anyone except Blaise and Theodore, and he doesn't mind as he walks her back to the common room. 

Every time they pass each other after that, he gives her a little wave, and it makes his heart curl into a warm little ball every time when she waves back. She looks happy and relaxed for a minute when she looks at him. 

He sees them, too, now, the looks the older Slytherins send her way, but she receives them all with her nose up so high it's almost comical, stubborn and proud, so it's the last thing he expects when he finds her one day in the owlery by herself, fighting tears. 

He tells her what Hagrid told him only days ago, not to listen to people like that, who spit words from spiteful mouths. They don't know what they're talking about. 

"Of course they don't," she tosses her head, eyes still red-rimmed and ruddy. "They're all bloody morons, that's why."

When Blaise insists on dragging him to the library the next day to look for a low-level anti-jinx spell to put around Harry's bed, Harry invites her along. Blaise's eyebrows shoot up when Harry hesitantly asks if he wouldn't mind a girl joining him, but he gives a cheerful shrug and Harry whispers to Tracey that treacle tarts have incredible brain enhancing study powers, nodding with overly wise eyes. 

She laughs at him - it seems she's always doing that, and for some reason, it feels right, the way the corners of her mouth are always resting upwards, as if that's the way the world's supposed to be - but that night when she shows up, she's got three perfect tarts in her hands. Blaise and Harry and Tracy Davis sit a long time at the table tucked into the corner under the flicker of the torches and the smell of books and magic. Nott saunters in about halfway through, eyes them for twenty minutes from across the room until Blaise rolls his eyes, stands up, and drags him over. Nott looks at the crumbs and his mouth flattens in that perturbed, annoyed way he has and the first thing he says is, 

"I see you didn't save any for me."

But Harry grins a little mischievously, feeling more relaxed than he's been for day, and says, "As I remember, you protested rather fiercely last time we tried to give you some…"

Nott makes an outraged snort of affront, but then it collapses into an unwilling grin as he shakes his head, and Blaise yells "Tell him, Harry!" (and is immediately shushed by a disapproving Madame Pince).

Theodore and Tracy Davis eye each other with appraising looks, as if they know exactly who the other is, Tracey a little defiant, and Nott a little resigned. Then Tracey tosses her head and Nott turns away to reply to a tease from Blaise, and without having to make any introductions, the two seem to have come to some understanding. 

Harry asks Blaise about it later, and Blaise shifts on his feel a little. 

"Their families," He says slowly. "They…know each other. Davis is a half-blood, you know - not that it matters to me," he adds quickly, when Harry feels a spark on his tongue and is about to speak up. Blaise shrugs a little and throws out a grin.

"As long as she keeps bringing treacle tart, I don't really see as it matters much."

That's Blaise's final word on the subject, and as far as Harry's concerned, it's good enough for him. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are <3


End file.
